In the Knight-Commander's recently restored quarters, Cullen stood at attention, hands clasped behind his back. The smell of burning wax mixed with the lingering aroma of fresh paint created an ambiance that was both old and new. Greagoir sat comfortably in his chair, his eyes scanning through various reports and documents, while his newly appointed Tranquil assistant busied herself with organizing the cluttered bookshelves behind him.

The young Templar's burned hand was wrapped tightly in bandages soaked in healing salves, courtesy of the Chantry Sisters. Cullen had adamantly refused any magical healing, willing to endure the long healing process and resulting scars rather than allowing magic to touch his skin. Despite the throbbing pain spreading from his injured limb, he maintained a calm and collected demeanor, determined not to show any sign of weakness in front of his superior.

The atmosphere in the room was tense and quiet, with only the faint sound of pages turning and the occasional shuffling of books as the Tranquil assistant went about her work. The Knight-Commander finally looked up from his paperwork, his piercing gaze fixed on Cullen. The old Templar's expression was stern, and the young man couldn't help but feel a sense of apprehension creeping up his spine. He knew that this conversation was bound to be a challenge.

Commander Greagoir spoke up in a firm tone, his frustration evident, "Yet again, you have initiated an unwarranted attack on the mage under your supervision. I can no longer overlook your actions."

Cullen felt his frustration building, but he knew better than to let it show in front of Greagoir. "With all due respect, Ser, I did not engage in unprovoked aggression. The apprentice's conduct was questionable, as he was wielding a knife, and I strongly suspected that blood magic was about to be employed."

The Commander let out a deep sigh, his patience wearing thin. "The man was peeling potatoes, and you summoned the Wrath of Heaven on him. Your conduct is unacceptable," he admonished, his eyes piercing the Templar. "Perhaps it is time for a personal evaluation of your career path with the Order. We can discuss your options outside of the organization."

The young man felt his nerves beginning to fray. "Ser, I want to serve. I need to serve!" he exclaimed, his emotions getting the better of him. "Every day new mages are born in Thedas, every day those born a dozen years ago come into their power. The uphill battle against magic is relentless, and every Templar must persist in fighting it until their last breath." His voice grew louder, the fervor and conviction in his words unmistakable.

Commander Greagoir regarded the Templar before him with a mixture of admiration and concern. "I won't deny that your passion and dedication to our cause are commendable." He paused for a moment as if contemplating his decision. "I can see your potential. Perhaps serving in a different Circle will prove beneficial for you. Let me send your file to some of the Knight-Commanders I know, maybe a transfer option will present itself."

"Thank you, Ser. This means everything to me. You won't regret it." He meant every word of it; his desire to protect the innocent from the horrors he had suffered was the only thing keeping him afloat. That being said, the prospect of leaving Kinloch Hold behind and serving in a different Circle was a welcome one. The memories and nightmares that haunted him in this place had become too much to bear.

"At ease, Knight," the Commander's countenance shifted to one of solemnity. "There was also another reason why I summoned you. Your family has been located. They have taken refuge in South Reach. Your siblings remain unharmed, but your parents did not survive the Blight. I extend my condolences."

"I see," Cullen replied flatly as if his voice didn't belong to him. The air in the room felt heavy and suffocating as he tried to process the information. His parents were gone. The people who had raised him loved him, and supported him, were no longer a part of this world. He was supposed to feel something, anything, but all he felt was a crushing emptiness.

His mind flashed back to memories of his parents, their faces etched in his mind. The sound of their laughter, the way his mother's voice sounded when she sang lullabies to him, the smell of his father's pipe smoke. All of it felt like a distant dream, a memory he could never relive.

He felt a coldness seep into his chest, numbing him to any feeling. It was as though a wall of ice had formed around his heart, preventing any emotion from breaking through.

The Knight-Commander continued, "If you want to personally notify your sister of the Knight-Lieutenant's death—"

Cullen quickly interrupted him. "No, Ser," he said firmly. "Please dispatch a formal letter from the Order to my family. I would also appreciate it if you denied their inquiries regarding my location."

Greagoir arched an eyebrow in response to the request but refrained from making any remarks. "As you wish, Knight-Templar. You are dismissed."

Cullen rendered a salute and departed from the Knight-Commander's quarters.

The Templar walked through the half-empty halls of the Circle Tower. After Uldred's atrocities and the Rite of Annulment, it was almost completely devoid of life. However, the arrival of mages and Templars from other smaller Circles around Ferelden had slowly started to populate Kinloch Hold.

He was relieved to hear that his siblings were safe. This also meant that Mia and Thomas's baby had survived. This news brought a sense of comfort to him, as his brother-in-law was a good man who deserved to leave a legacy behind. Yet, even as he thought of this, Cullen couldn't help but feel an immense sense of guilt and responsibility towards Mia and her child.

The young man knew that his actions had played a role in the tragic fall of the Ferelden Circle, and the weight of that knowledge was almost too much to bear. The thought of having to face his niece or his nephew and tell them that it was because of him that they didn't have a father was appalling. How could they see their uncle with anything other than contempt? And what about his sister? How could he look Mia in the eye and not feel like a failure? How could he ever hope to make amends for what had happened when the pain he had caused was a wound that could never truly heal? The conversation that he knew he had to have with his family felt like an insurmountable task; just the thought of it was enough to send his mind into a spiral of anxiety and dread. The relationship between them was now beyond repair. He had to find a way to navigate his life without the love and support of those who had always been there for him. However, he couldn't let himself sink into self-pity. Wallowing in guilt wouldn't bring Thomas back or change the past. Despite the weight of his sins, Cullen knew that he had to perform his duty. The Maker would judge him for his actions in time, but for now, it was up to him to prevent another disaster like the one that had befallen Kinloch Hold. He had to use his experience to ensure that innocent lives are never again lost because of negligence or inaction.

After about a week, the ravens carrying replies from the contacted commanders finally arrived, but only one response held any promise. The Knight-Commander Meredith Stannard, from the city of Kirkwall, was willing to accept him into her Circle.

In a matter of days, Cullen was ready to leave, his meager belongings packed tightly and his blood filled with lyrium to the brim. He stood at the docks of Kinloch Hold, his eyes fixed on the tranquil waters of Lake Calenhad. The stillness of the lake was like a mirror, reflecting his inner numbness.

As he waited for Knight-Templar Carroll to prepare the ferry, his thoughts drifted to the poor man's condition. Carroll had been especially vulnerable to the side effects of lyrium consumption, and as a result, his descent into dementia had begun much earlier than it should have. He knew that no Templar in the Circle wanted to be near the man, as he was a stark reminder of the inescapable fate that awaited them all.

Despite knowing what was in store for him in his golden years, Cullen remained steadfast. He was determined to serve the Chantry and protect the people, even if it meant sacrificing his own life. Like the Grey Wardens who ventured into the deep roads when the taint was about to overtake them, he was prepared to go on the Exalted March against the Qunari once his mind began to fail him. A true knight is meant to die in battle, not to lay weak and deranged in his bed.

Carroll worked diligently, but his hands shook as he fumbled with the ropes that bound the boat to the docks. Cullen noticed his struggle and stepped forward to help, but the man protested, "No! I've got one job, and one job only, and by the Maker's shiny gold cutlery, I will do it!" As he continued to work on the knot, his brow furrowed in concentration, and his tongue stuck out slightly, almost as if it were trying to help him with the task at hand.

Finally, after much effort, the knot was undone, and they set sail across the lake. As they moved further away from the Circle, Carroll's eyes met Cullen's. "Oh, I recognize you! So you're supposed to be one of those. Well, one of the new Templars arrived yesterday. Our Circle is one of the best in Ferelden, why are you leaving when you just came here?"

"I may be leaving, but I don't think I'll ever be able to truly escape this place," Cullen murmured, his gaze returning to the Kinloch Hold slowly retracing into the distance. He knew that a part of him would always remain there, trapped within the walls of the tower alongside his fallen comrades and Thomas.

Carroll's words were a bit scattered as he continued, "I have a bit of a secret, you see. First Enchanter Irving, he's my closest friend." A broad smile stretched across his face, the excitement evident in his voice. "If you change your mind, I'll make sure to introduce you to him," he added. As he spoke, he suddenly turned his head to the space beside Cullen, his eyes wide with surprise. "First Enchanter!" he exclaimed. "I was just talking about you." The young Templar shuddered involuntarily; it was unnerving to listen to the one-sided conversation between the delusional Templar and the First Enchanter who had been dead for quite some time. To his relief, they soon reached the shore.

Cullen bid Carroll farewell, took one last look at the Tower, its imposing structure rising against the sky, and set off.

The beginning of his journey was relatively smooth, as he had been provided with a horse by the Chantry on the outskirts of Ferelden. Riding on horseback for several days, the Templar only briefly stopped to rest and resupply at small villages along the way, his mind occupied with grim thoughts.

Upon reaching Denerim, he hired a carriage to take him to the port city of Gwaren. The cramped quarters made him feel uneasy, but he tried to distract himself by taking in the scenic views outside the window. After what felt like an eternity, he finally arrived in Gwaren. He stepped off the carriage, stretched his legs, breathed in the salty sea air, and made his way to the docks to find a ship that was headed to Kirkwall.

To his surprise, the ship named 'Unsinkable' was about to depart for the City of Chains in just a few hours. Cullen thought that the name sounded promising, so he made his way up the gangplank and onto the deck, where he was greeted by bustling activity, with sailors scurrying about, tending to various tasks. Despite the hustle and bustle, the Templar managed to find the captain and began to haggle for a fair passage fee. After a brief negotiation, the deal was struck.

He was relieved to find that the vessel was sturdy, with a gleaming, polished interior that was relatively spacious, permitting him to move about freely. However, when the captain suggested that he take a cabin for the voyage, the young man hesitated. The thought of being trapped in a small stateroom for days on end made his stomach churn.

To his relief, the skipper of the ship was sympathetic to his plight and allowed him to spend most of his time on the deck.

During the day, Cullen watched the graceful seagulls soar above him and enjoyed the feeling of the refreshing breeze on his face. At night, he curled up in a quiet corner of the deck, trying to ignore the unsettling sounds of the creaking ship and the lapping of the waves against the hull.

Ten days later, Cullen arrived in Kirkwall, which greeted him with a foul stench of human waste emanating from the murky waters and a series of giant statues depicting desperate, chained slaves. He stepped off the ship and onto the creaking wooden dock, his legs feeling wobbly after the long journey at sea. The young man looked around the busy harbor, his eyes squinting against the bright sunshine, scanning the crowds of people for the Templar who was supposed to meet him. After a few moments of searching, he spotted familiar armor in the distance.

"Knight-Templar Cullen Rutherford?" the Templar called out, striding towards him. He was a tall, muscular man with a shaven head and a serious expression.

"Yes, Ser!" The young man saluted, straightening his back and trying to look more alert.

Introducing himself as Knight-Lieutenant Alrik, the man began escorting Cullen through the winding streets of Kirkwall to the Gallows, explaining the complicated political and social dynamics of the city.

"You'll find that life in Kirkwall is... different," Ser Alrik said, his voice tinged with a note of caution. "The Templar Order has a lot of power here, and Knight-Commander Meredith can rival the Viscount in authority. It will do you good to remember that."

Cullen nodded, his eyes scanning the bustling streets and the towering buildings around him. He had heard stories about Kirkwall's branch of the Order, tales of Viscount Perrin Threnhold who abused his power, wreaked havoc on the city, and attempted to expel the Templar Order from Kirkwall, killing the Knight-Commander in the process. Knight-Captain Meredith and a group of her best Templars marched on the Viscount's Keep and had him arrested, thrown in his own dungeons, and stripped of his title. She was promoted to Knight-Commander by Grand Cleric Elthina, and with the Chantry's support, Meredith appointed Marlowe Dumar to succeed Perrin, though she remained the true ruler of the city.

As they walked, Knight-Lieutenant continued to explain the role of the Templars in Kirkwall, outlining their duty to not only protect the city from the dangers of magic but also assist the city guard however they can. The young man listened carefully, taking in every word.

Eventually, they arrived at the Gallows, a massive structure looming over the city. Cullen's body tensed up, sending goosebumps across his skin, as he lifted his gaze toward the towering walls that surrounded the square. The walls were like imposing giants, casting long shadows over the area and making him feel small and vulnerable in comparison.

As he continued to take in the surroundings, his eyes fixed on the numerous grotesque statues that adorned the square. The huge sculptures of rusted metal were unsettling, depicting the chains wrapped tightly around the bodies of the enslaved, the look of agony and despair etched on their faces. The rust and decay of the statues gave them an eerie quality as if the slaves were still trapped in their metal prisons, forever frozen in their suffering. All of these elements combined created a scene that was both chilling and mesmerizing, and Cullen found himself unable to look away. He couldn't help but feel as though he was standing on hallowed ground, surrounded by the echoes of a tragic history that continued to haunt the present.

"This is your new home," Lieutenant Alrick announced, gesturing toward the building. "It's not the most welcoming place, but you'll get used to it."

The young Templar swallowed, his heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. He knew it would take time to adjust to the new place, but he was determined to serve the people of Kirkwall with honor and dedication.

"Thank you, Ser Alrick," he said, turning to the other Templar. "I appreciate your guidance."

The old Knight smirked, clapping him on the shoulder. "You'll do fine, Ser Rutherford. Just remember to stay vigilant and stay true to your duty as a Templar."

With those words of encouragement ringing in his ears, Cullen stepped onto the Gallows, ready to begin his new life in the City of Chains.

In no time at all, the Templar realized that his new Knight-Commander was an exceedingly strict taskmaster, but it wasn't without reason. Kirkwall was a veritable pit of vile scum, repugnant blood mages, and detestable bandits. Upholding any sort of order within the city was an Andrastian feat, as for every apostate that was dragged, kicking and screaming, to the Circle, two more cunningly slipped away from it. For every maleficar that was slain, three more sinister practitioners of the dark arts emerged. And for every bandit that the Templars managed to take down, another one would spring up in his place, somehow even more ruthless than the last. It was a never-ending cycle of violence and corruption that threatened to overwhelm them at every turn.

As a result, the Knights here were worked to the bone, without any concept of time off, unless they were severely injured and incapacitated from their duties. Cullen suspected that the only reason the Order was still functioning was due to the heightened lyrium intake by its members. The blue liquid was consumed at an alarming rate, sometimes up to four times a day instead of the recommended daily dosage. The concentration of the potion was also more potent, leaving his mouth and throat numb for hours after ingesting the draft. It was as if the Templars were constantly walking on the edge, fueled by the power of the lyrium to keep them going.

Despite the hardships, most of the Knights didn't complain, for Knight-Commander Meredith was a relentless force of dedication within the Order, unmatched by any other. She wasn't content with simply sitting back and letting her subordinates do the work while she luxuriated in comfort. No, this fierce woman led by example, constantly pushing herself to the limit and beyond. Sleep and meals were mere afterthoughts in her tireless pursuit to make the Circle of Magi safer and the streets of the city more secure.

Cullen couldn't help but respect her unwavering commitment. Unlike the lenient Greagoir, Meredith was not one to shy away from tough decisions. He did not doubt that, under her watchful eye, Uldred would have been made Tranquil long before he even had the chance to dream up his rebellion. It was clear to the young man that Meredith possessed a unique understanding of the dangers of magic. She saw mages not as people but as volatile weapons that could never be fully trusted. This perspective fostered a sense of camaraderie between him and the Knight-Commander. She saw in him the same fire and passion for the cause that burned within herself.

In Ferelden, his tendency to overreact to certain situations earned him reprimands. However, in Kirkwall, this trait proved to be an asset. In just over a year, he was able to climb the ranks from a regular Knight to the position of Knight-Corporal. Another six months passed, and he was promoted once again, this time to the rank of Knight-Lieutenant. While the young Templar's rapid ascent up the hierarchical ladder was impressive, it did not go unnoticed by others in the Order. Some viewed him with respect and admiration for his achievements, while others were apprehensive, believing that he lacked the necessary experience for his position. There were also Knights who were jealous of his success and tried to spread rumors that he had secured his promotions through a 'special' relationship with the Knight-Commander. However, these claims were quickly dismissed as baseless by the rest of his comrades. Anyone who knew Cullen or Meredith would realize that such ideas were simply ridiculous.

The dedication to his duties as a Templar had taken over his entire existence. He avoided forming close bonds with his fellow Knights, knowing that the constant danger posed by demons and blood mages could lead to heartbreak at any moment. He used to be a passionate chess player, but he had abandoned the game, seeing it as a frivolous distraction from his work. Even his prayers to the Maker felt hollow, lacking the sense of divine connection he once cherished. And while some Templars tried to sneak away from their duties to indulge in pleasures like drinking or visiting brothels, he steered clear of such places. The reason for his avoidance was twofold: not only was it inappropriate for a Knight to partake in these activities, but he also harbored a deep fear of losing control of his mind through alcohol. Furthermore, he found the prospect of an unfamiliar woman touching him repulsive.

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Despite his unwavering commitment, serving in Kirkwall offered Cullen little respite from the traumas he had experienced at Kinloch Hold, the memories lingered on like a haunting melody. The lyrium he consumed dulled the nightmares that plagued him, but it was incapable of eliminating the profound feeling of detachment he experienced within himself.

For all the weight of his burdens, the man knew he could rely on Meredith. In her presence, he felt a sense of camaraderie and trust that he had not experienced with anyone since Thomas's death. In a city plagued by chaos and uncertainty, they stood side by side, facing the world together as they fought against the perils of magic.

Cullen marched along the rugged terrain of the Wounded Coast, his boots crunching against the rocky ground. As he trudged forward, he couldn't help but notice the striking contrast between the harsh, stony landscape and the brilliant sky above.

The blazing summer sun beat down on the jagged cliffs and the choppy waters of the nearby sea, casting a golden glow over everything in sight. Even in this searing heat, a persistent chill was clinging to him like a second skin, causing him to shiver. He flexed his icy fingers and toes, trying to warm them up and alleviate the discomfort. Knowing that overconsumption of lyrium had caused this affliction, he recognized it as simply another toll to be paid for his Templar abilities. Nevertheless, he clenched his teeth and persevered, redirecting his thoughts back to his mission.

As he walked, his eyes scanned the horizon for any sign of his quarry. He had been assigned to find and question Wilmod, a Templar recruit who had recently vanished without a trace. He wasn't the first to go missing; other recruits had been disappearing for weeks, and all attempts to find them had been unsuccessful. However, a guard patrol recently spotted Wilmod near the caves of the Wounded Coast, providing an opportunity to uncover the truth about the situation.

Cullen cursed under his breath, the Templar Order already struggled to find recruits in Kirkwall, where people were well aware of the risks involved. The loss of several young warriors was a blow to their depleted ranks. Knight-Commander had entrusted him with this task, and he knew that failure was not an option.

With every step he took, he became more determined to uncover the truth behind the disappearances and stop the panic spreading through the city.

When Cullen finally spotted Wilmod in the distance, the sun was already beginning to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the landscape. The recruit was slinking around the edge of the cave, trying to stay out of sight. Templar's heart raced with anticipation as he quickened his pace, closing the distance between them. When he was within shouting distance, Cullen barked out, "Halt! Templar recruit, Wilmod! You are under arrest!"

The recruit froze, turning slowly to face the Templar. His eyes widened with recognition as he realized that he had been caught. Cullen approached him, his eyes drilling into the man. "Where have you been? You left the Gallows without permission. The Order has been searching for you."

Wilmod's eyes darted nervously around, and he took a step back. "I just needed a break, a little time to myself," he replied, trying to keep his voice steady.

The Templar's gaze narrowed. "You know very well that you can't just come and go as you please. You've been missing for weeks, along with several other recruits. Tell me what is going on."

Wilmod's eyes widened in fear, but he quickly composed himself. "I don't know anything about that, Ser. I swear it," he said, his voice shaking slightly.

Cullen wasn't convinced. He had a feeling that Wilmod was holding something back. "I find that hard to believe. You were seen together with the other recruits in the Blooming Rose before they disappeared. What can you say about that?"

Wilmod's face paled, and he took another step back. "I don't know anything, Ser. I swear it on the Maker's name," he said, his voice trembling.

Cullen had had enough; he lashed out delivering a blow to Wilmod's stomach that sent him tumbling to the ground.

"Tell me the truth, damn it!" he shouted, looming over the recruit.

Wilmod lay on the ground, cradling his midsection, and whimpered, "I don't know anything, Ser."

Suddenly a female voice announced from behind him, "Alright, mate, hold up a sec! If you wanna get results, ya gotta be a bit softer on 'em, ya hear? Carrots work a hell of a lot better than sticks."

Cullen wheeled around, his hand instinctively reaching for his sword. His eyes widened as he saw a peculiar group heading towards him. At the front was a towering, muscular woman, clad in old and rusted armor that seemed to have seen better days. Although he could see that she had once been a beauty, her face was now covered in thick and jagged scars, and her nose was crooked, likely from being broken too many times. She carried a massive maul in her hands with an air of confidence, and the Templar knew that he wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of that weapon.

Following close behind her was a white-haired elf with intricate and strange tattoos adorning his skin. His face was stoic, his eyes alert and watchful, as he gripped the hilt of his two-handed sword. And then, at the very back of the group, he was surprised to find Brother Sebastian Vael, his white and golden armor reflecting the last rays of the setting sun.

Cullen relaxed slightly at the sight of the Chantry Brother, but he still kept a hand on his sword. "Who are you, and what do you want?" he demanded, looking at the woman, his voice steady but cautious.

The woman standing ahead chuckled heartily before introducing herself, "The moniker be Hawke, and I've got me fair share o' wants." She gave Sebastian a playful wink, which he ignored. "But for the time bein', I be wantin' to have a wee chat with the poor sod ye be bashing up o'er there."

Cullen narrowed his eyes and said, "This is Templar business, stay out o--" Wilmod's scream pierced the air, jarring the senses of everyone around him. He writhed in pain, convulsing on the ground as if his body was no longer his own. Cullen tried to approach him, but before he could even take a step, the recruit's skin began to shift and change, morphing into a grotesque sight. His skin turned an ashen gray, becoming loose and saggy. His mouth split wide, revealing sharp, rodent-like incisors. As his body shrank and his armor morphed into tattered black hooded robes, sharp claws sprouted from his fingers. In mere moments, the recruit had transformed into a despair demon.

The creature charged at Cullen with blinding speed, and he barely managed to raise his shield in time to deflect the demon's attack. The force of the collision dropped the Templar to the ground. The demon leaped into the air, a blue barrier sprouting around him as he levitated above the surface, darting around the area in all directions. Sebastian shot arrows at the demon, but the barrier deflected them.

"Attacks are useless until I dispel his shield," Cullen shouted to the group, knowing he was the only one who could break through the demon's defense.

" Don't ye worry, Templar! We'll be keepin' him busy while ye do yer thing!" Hawke yelled in reply, rallying the group to action.

The despair demon shot a beam of ice at the Chantry Brother, who jumped away to avoid it, but still took a hit in the shoulder and groaned in pain.

"Don't be messin' with me man, ye bilge rat!" the woman roared, throwing herself at the demon with wild abandon. She smashed into the creature with her maul, the blunt force of her blow sending the demon sprawling to the ground. Despite the protective barrier surrounding despair demon, the impact of the hit left him momentarily dazed and disoriented. Using this opportunity, Cullen called upon lyrium, and a blinding light erupted around the creature, dispelling his barrier and leaving him vulnerable. At that moment, the tattooed elf charged forward with his two-handed sword, slicing the demon in half with one swift motion, his body turning into a pile of sulfur smelling ash.

Cullen's heart was racing as he approached the remains of the slain monster. "Maker's Blood!" he exclaimed, unable to contain his shock and horror. "I knew that something was going on, but this… to see one of our own turn into a demon again..." His voice trailed off as dark memories of the past resurfaced, reminding him of the horrors he had witnessed in Kinloch. He shook his head, trying to push the haunting images away, before turning to face Hawke with a stern gaze.

"What did you want from Wilmod? What is your involvement in all of this?" Cullen demanded, his eyes piercing into hers. However, Hawke remained entirely focused on the Chantry Brother, her attention solely on making sure he was okay. With a worried look on her face, she handed him a healing potion, and Sebastian smiled at her reassuringly and said, "Don't worry, Hawke. It's just a scratch."

Cullen opened his mouth to express his indignation at being ignored, but he was interrupted by a white-haired elf who approached him. "She won't pay you any attention until she makes sure Brother Sebastian is fine," the elf said, his tone matter-of-fact. "Let me explain our involvement in this situation."

With a flick of his hand, the elf beckoned Cullen to come closer. "Hawke was approached by a woman named Macha," he began, his voice steady and clear. "She is the sister of one of the Templar recruits named Keran. He's been missing for several weeks now, and Macha is desperate to find him. She offered us a reward for any information we could find."

The elf continued, "Our friend in the City Guard told us that Keran's friend Wilmod had recently been seen near the caves on the Wounded Coast, so we came here, in the hope of getting some information on Keran's whereabouts."

Cullen couldn't help but feel a sense of unease creeping up on him as he realized that with Wilmod's death, the trail had gone cold, and the only clue left was the infamous Blooming Rose. This den of iniquity was the last place the missing recruits were seen together, but it posed a problem for Cullen. He was strictly forbidden from entering the establishment. It was a rule that had been enforced after a regrettable incident that he still recalled vividly.

He had ventured to the brothel to retrieve a comrade who had indulged in too much wine and was unable to leave on his own. As he entered, the overwhelming fetor of cheap perfume and bargain-priced drinks mixed with the sounds of moans coming from every direction. A scantily clad woman approached him with a sultry smile on her face. Her eyes were dark and smoldering with desire as she said, "Hey, handsome, why don't we have a bit of fun?" She reached out and touched his face with her fingertips. The young Templar felt a tremble of fear race through him. Suddenly he sensed the inescapable caresses of a desire demon traversing his body, heard the vibrating hum of the barrier, and smelled the overpowering stench of sulfur. On pure instinct, the man reacted. Shouting, "Get your filthy hands away from me, you monster!" He smashed his fist into the woman's face with all his might. The prostitute dropped to the floor, knocked out cold, blood pouring from her broken nose. Chaos erupted as the guards of the brothel rushed in, pushing him out of the establishment. Cullen was filled with shame and regret for his behavior. Later, through the Templar who was her regular customer, he gave some coins to the woman as an apology. Nevertheless, the incident had permanently barred him from entering the Blooming Rose.

Hawke finished fussing over Vael and made her way over to them, her expression expectant. Cullen's heart lifted as he realized that the answer to his problem was right in front of him. With a sense of urgency in his voice, he addressed the group. "We share the same objective," he said, his eyes meeting each person in turn. "So I propose that we help each other. I am Knight-Lieutenant Cullen, and I am on a mission to find the missing recruits, Keran being one of them. Unfortunately, the umm… ladies of the Blooming Rose won't collaborate with me. If you could find out what they know, I would not only pay for your cooperation but also assist you in investigating this matter further."

Hawke's face lit up with a smile, her eyes alight with excitement. "Let's hoist the anchor and set sail! " she exclaimed, reaching out her hand for a shake. "This here's a fair wind that'll bring us both to port. You've got yourself a deal, matey!"

Cullen hesitated for a moment, his mind searching for a way to avoid the contact, but he knew he had no other choice. Mentally preparing himself, he clasped Hawke's hand and gave it a firm shake before quickly releasing it.

As they stood before the Blooming Rose, Hawke's arms were crossed and her expression stern. She glanced over at the group and furrowed her brows. "Me an' Fenris will handle it solo, no need for all them harlots gawkin' at me man." she said, eyeing Sebastian.

Vael let out an exasperated sigh. "I don't mind waiting outside with Ser Cullen, but please stop referring to me as your man. We're not a couple. I'm a Chantry Brother sworn to chastity, I told you that the first time you showed interest in me."

Hawke waved a dismissive hand, unphased. "Bollocks, if I say ye be me man, ye be me man. Ye just haven't realized that I be yer woman. And this talk of chastity don't mean nuthin' to me, I can live without yer tool, all I need is yer heart."

Cullen let out a loud cough, his face turning bright red. The elf at his side rolled his eyes, clearly used to the duo's banter.

However, the Chantry Brother didn't back down. "My heart is filled with my devotion to the Maker, there's no room for anything or anyone else," he retorted, a hint of frustration in his voice.

Hawke gave him a cheeky smile. "Aye, I'm sure I can still scavenge some empty nook and fit meself in there."

The Templar cleared his throat, breaking up the exchange. "Could we return to our matters at hand?" he asked, his voice serious. "You can discuss your relationship after we deal with this."

Hawke relented with a playful pout. "Ok, ok, ye win. Fenris, let's shove off. We've got some wenches to grill!" She exclaimed, grabbing the elf's arm as they entered the brothel, leaving Cullen and Sebastian to wait in awkward silence.

An hour had passed since Hawke and Fenris had disappeared into the brothel. When they finally emerged, the woman practically shimmered with satisfaction, and even Fenris, who was typically stoic, had a small grin on his face. As they approached the group, Hawke announced, "We've got the story, mateys! We know what's gone down."

Cullen tensed, bracing himself for the news. He had a feeling it wouldn't be good.

"Those fresh-faced lads have been bewitched by the harlot Idunna," Hawke started, her tone full of disgust.

Fenris added his voice to the conversation. "Who is also a blood mage. Once under her control, she sent the recruits to Tarohne, another maleficar, who implanted demons in them to sow chaos and paranoia within the Templar ranks. They released Wilmod, but he was too afraid to return to the Order after what had been done to him."

Cullen's blood boiled with anger. Once again, the mages were attempting to destroy the Templar Order. When would they stop?

The elf continued, his words dripping with venom. "Idunna claimed Tarohne talked her into the whole thing, promising they could 'recreate the ancient Imperium, that mages could rule again, not serve,' how very typical."

Hawke wasn't finished. "The harlot blabbered about their secret den in Dark Town to save her skin."

Cullen clenched his fist. "I will arrest Idunna for her crimes against the Order," he growled.

The woman shook her head. "Nay, no need for that, matey," she said with a sly smile. "We had barely finished questioning the wench when she gave up the ghost, her heart shattered into pieces." She gave a knowing look to the elf, who smirked in return.

"Then let's make for the Dark Town," Sebastian spoke up, his eyes hopeful. "If the Maker is willing, the recruits will still be alive."

The Templar nodded in agreement, and the party headed towards the Dark Town.

Hawke led the way as the group followed her through the dark and treacherous streets of Dark Town. The narrow alleys were barely wide enough for two people to pass, and the crumbling buildings seemed ready to collapse at any moment. The air was thick with the stench of rotting garbage and excrement, and the only sounds were the scurrying of rats and the distant howling of the wind.

The woman and her companions kept their weapons at the ready, knowing that danger lurked around every corner. Cullen kept a sharp eye out for any signs of suspicious activity, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

As they made their way deeper into the district, Hawke suddenly stopped in front of a narrow alleyway. "This be the way, mateys!" she said, gesturing for the group to follow her.

The Templars followed her into the alleyway, exchanging suspicious glances with her companions. The path was tight and winding, and the shadows seemed to grow thicker with each step. The woman led the way to a nondescript door at the end of the alley. "This be it," she whispered, pointing at the entrance.

Sebastian strode confidently to the door and placed his hand on the rusty lock. Kneeling before it, his pouch of tools at the ready, he whispered, "This one is pretty basic." With swift, precise movements, he inserted the lock pick into the lock, and the sound of the metal scraping against metal echoed through the eerie silence. Cullen looked at the man in surprise; it was an unexpected skill for a Chantry Brother. After a few clicks and twists, the lock finally gave way, and the door creaked open. As they cautiously stepped inside, their senses were assailed by the stink of sulfur and the metallic tang of blood. The chamber was dimly lit, but even in the flickering candlelight, The Templar could see the stains of blood on the stone floor. The room branched out into three separate corridors, each one darker and more ominous than the last. The walls were adorned with grotesque paintings and statues of dragons. The atmosphere was oppressive, and Cullen could feel the weight of the mage's dark power bearing down on him.

Before they could decide which path to take, a swarm of abominations rushed towards them from all three directions, their eyes glowing in the dark.

Sebastian's bowstring was the first to sound as an arrow found its mark in one of the monsters. Hawke rushed forward with her maul, her swings hitting two creatures at once with wide arches. The elf displayed incredible grace as he took on another two abominations, dodging and hitting with deadly precision.

Cullen cursed as he saw rage demons emerging from the floor. The room was too small for his Wrath of Heaven ability unless he wanted to hit Hawke and her companions.

He activated Blessed Blades on his sword and joined the fight, shield-bashing one of the rage demons before piercing it with his blade. The fight was intense, with arrows flying and swords clashing against the claws. Cullen felt the pull of dark magic, and beneath their feet, three immolation circles appeared. Narrowly avoiding the demon's attack, he dispelled the space, causing two circles to instantly disappear. However, the third one remained beneath Hawke, out of the area of effect.

An explosion erupted from it, sending the woman flying into the wall before she landed in a heap on the floor. Sebastian rushed to her aid with a healing potion in hand, while Fenris held the line, fighting two rage demons at once. Cullen concentrated and sent a precise Holy Smite into one of the creatures, causing a ball of light to land right in the monster's head, blowing it to pieces. Lava splashed in all directions, some of it reaching the elf, making him hiss in pain.

To his relief, Cullen saw Hawke standing, shaken but ready to resume the fight. The battle raged on, with each member of the group fighting with all their might against the seemingly endless horde of monsters.

As the Templar fought, a sudden movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention. He turned to the left corridor and spotted the telltale flash of robes disappearing into the darkness. Without a second thought, he darted after the maleficar, his heart racing and breath coming in quick gasps. As he sprinted down the narrow passage, a sharp shard of ice whizzed toward his face. Instinctively, he dispelled the projectile, which was mere centimeters from his head. He bellowed a roar of fury and continued his pursuit, heedless of the danger lurking ahead. He burst into a room and was confronted by a chilling sight. Five translucent barriers held the missing recruits captive, their bodies emaciated and pale, lying motionless on the ground. Cullen felt a wave of nausea wash over him as the space seemed to shrink around him, morphing into the walls of the Circle Tower. Suddenly, a bloody mist enveloped him, blurring his vision as he glimpsed the female figure approaching. Though her face was obscured, he knew with a gut-wrenching certainty that it was none other than Lea Amell. Rage consumed him as he lunged toward her, feeling the siren's song of tranquility attempting to calm his fury. However, this time was different, the excessive consumption of lyrium allowed him to fight the spell. Sweat poured down his face as he concentrated fiercely, calling on Andraste for strength. With a loud cry, he unleashed the powerful Spell Purge, tearing apart the clutches of the maleficar's hold on his mind. As the magic released him, Cullen's vision cleared, and he surged forward, his weapon at the ready. The maleficar looked at him with a mix of shock and disbelief, but it was too late. With a savage thrust, he plunged his sword into her gut, eliciting a terrible scream. The woman crumpled to the floor, clutching her wound. Still, Cullen was not finished. Driven by an unbridled fury, he dropped his sword and shield, climbing atop the fallen woman and pummeling her face with his fists. He could not stop himself as the violent rage consumed him, overwhelming all sense of reason and logic.

A female voice jolted him back to reality, "Take it easy, mate. The wench is gone beyond repair." Cullen turned to face Hawke and her companions. It was a sight to behold, their armor covered in gore and ash, their skin full of cuts and bruises from the intense battle they had just fought. Yet there was nothing a potion couldn't cure. He blinked several times as the realization of where he was finally hit him. He was in Kirkwall; Lea was long dead. He looked down at the bloody pulp that was left of the maleficar's face, her blond hair matted with blood—of course, it wasn't Amell. The rage that had engulfed him a few moments ago dissipated into nothingness, and he felt the all-too-familiar numbness set in. He stood up, his gauntlets dripping with blood and his hands shaking slightly, but as he looked around at the young recruits, he felt a flicker of hope. The barriers holding them captive had disappeared, and Sebastian was already checking for their vitals.

"Thanks the Maker, they are alive!" The Brother exclaimed, looking relieved.

Cullen walked over to one of the young men, gesturing toward him. "This is Keran, the one you've been looking for," he said to the group, his voice firm. "You can tell his sister that he is now safe and back with the Templars. Please remain with the recruits until I notify the Order of their location. This way, my comrades can arrange their transportation back to the Circle. They will also pay you for your assistance," he added, his tone grateful.

Hawke grinned, " Don't fret, mate. We'll hold down the fort and keep everyone safe until help gets here," she said, her voice full of confidence.

Cullen nodded his thanks, picking up his sword and shield before making his way toward the Gallows. As he walked, his mind raced, trying to process everything that had just happened. But he knew that he had done what he had to do and saved lives in the process. That was all that mattered.

The next day, Cullen was summoned to Knight-Commander Meredith's office. As he entered, his back straightened with a sense of purpose and duty, fully expecting to receive another assignment. Meredith, however, was standing with her back to him, her eyes fixed upon the cityscape below. She acknowledged his arrival without turning to greet him, her voice measured and calm, "When I received your request for transfer from Greagoir, I knew it was the Maker's providence. It is not often one can meet people who know what it is like to suffer, to be burned by magic, and to rise from the ashes stronger than ever before." After a momentary pause, she turned towards him and continued, "Your last mission demonstrated that you are prepared for this new role. You have earned this promotion through your devotion and commitment to duty."

With a deliberate stride, Meredith approached the armor stand and retrieved a sword of the finest quality, with the hilt adorned by the intricate design of Andraste's flames. "It was my blade when I served as Knight-Captain, now it will be yours. Make good use of it, Knight-Captain Cullen," she handed the weapon over to Cullen with a steely resolve. It was a true masterpiece, worth a small fortune, and the Templar accepted it with great reverence. "Thank you, Commander. I hope to be proved worthy of your trust."

Meredith's lips quirked slightly in a smile, "I wouldn't appoint you Knight-Captain if I didn't trust you. I will announce your promotion tomorrow, there is still some paperwork to be done."

"Before I return to my duties, may I ask how the rescued recruits are faring? I can't obtain any information on their well-being from the infirmary," he asked with a note of concern in his voice.

"Unfortunately, they succumbed to the injuries inflicted on them by the maleficar," Commander Meredith replied solemnly.

Cullen was taken aback. "But they were alive when they arrived at the Gallows. How could that happen?"

"The curse of dark magic is powerful. It destroys everything it touches," Meredith explained, her tone serious. "Do not mourn the recruits, Knight Captain. They are with the Maker now." Returning to her desk, she added, "I'll see you tomorrow. You are dismissed."

As Cullen left the office, he made his way through the Gallows, his new sword clutched tightly in his hand. He couldn't help but resent the harsh reality of the City of Chains. Every victory here came with a price, and he wondered how long the Order would be able to pay it.